I want to thank Ladyfalcon for her assistance by making constructive comments and editing this story.
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Growing up on a farm in rural southern Illinois, unlike city kids, I had few other children to play with, and I had no siblings. Luckily, our farm neighbors, who lived on the farm next to ours, had a daughter, almost the same age as me. She was also an only child, so at a young age, we were thrown together as playmates, because the only other child our age lived three miles away. Her name was Sarah Kolb.
If you're familiar with southern Illinois, there are many hills mixed among the flat spots. Sarah's family grew corn, soybeans, and hay on their farm, because most of it was level. There was a small creek that flowed through a corner of Kolb's farm. That same creek flowed through the middle of ours, and about half of ours was hilly. On the flat part, my parents grew apples in an apple orchard, and on the hilly half we raised Christmas trees.
From about the third grade, Sarah and I would frequently ride our bikes to each others farm after school to have someone to play with. We spent a lot of time playing outside, wading in the creek, chasing butterflies, and riding our bikes. Sarah could run as fast as me and she didn't cry if she skinned her knee. She wasn't afraid of spiders, nor was she afraid to climb trees or to catch frogs. I liked her a lot because she was a rough and tumble girl. At the same time, she could be as sweet, ladylike, and pretty as a princess.
One time when I was playing at Sarah's house, I saw several trophies, medals, and ribbons on her mantle. I asked about them, and Sarah told me they belonged to her mom, Virginia. She said her mom had grown up on her grandfather's horse farm and that her mom had won all the prizes for horsemanship at horse shows.
When I asked why her mom didn't have a horse, Sarah said, "She was in a car wreck when I was two. She had a broken pelvis that didn't heal right--that's why she walks with a limp. She couldn't ride a horse after that, so she had to sell it."
Sarah went on to tell me she wanted a horse, but her parents said she was too young. So instead of a horse, Sarah had a black, mixed-breed, mostly-Labrador dog, named Abby. She told me her parents promised her a horse when she turned fifteen, if she maintained good grades. In return, she had to promise she would be the one who took care of it.
Over the next few years, Sarah dedicated herself to her school work and was always at the top of the class. Because of her love of animals, she always wanted to be a veterinarian.
By the time we reached high school, Sarah started developing feminine curves in all the right places. She blossomed from a cute girl into a beautiful young woman. She was slender, at 5-feet 5-inches, and 110 pounds. I loved how her blue eyes sparkled. She let her brunette hair grow and usually wore it in a ponytail that hung just below her shoulders. She had a small, turned-up, button nose and delicate rosy cheeks. Looking at Virginia and Sarah together, you might have thought they were sisters. Dad always said Sarah was "cuter than a spotted pup."
In mid-August of our freshman year, Sarah received one of her grandfather's prize horses, a registered, four-year-old, chestnut quarter horse, for her fifteenth birthday. She was his only grandchild, so he lavished her with a magnificent gift. Sarah's horse, named after the Greek mythological flying horse, was Pegasus. She was extremely proud of him. Pegasus was an elegant horse--strong, muscular, and fast. He was sixteen hands high and had a white star on his forehead.
As a stallion, his disposition was mostly gentle. Occasionally, he would act up, but he was much calmer than most stallions. His worst habit was to rub against wooden fences, and he broke some, requiring numerous repairs.
Pegasus was saddle-broke and had been ridden before Sarah received him, so she started riding him within a week after his arrival at Kolb's farm. Sarah and Pegasus bonded quickly. Virginia helped Sarah train Pegasus, and within several months, Pegasus could perform all the maneuvers required in horsemanship competition. Besides all the maneuvers required for horse shows, Sarah taught Pegasus several tricks and behaviors. On command, he could bow, shake his head, rear up on his hind legs, and paw the ground with a hoof. Sarah also used several special whistles as commands. She could call Pegasus from the pasture with one whistle. Another whistle would send him into the barn. With yet another whistle, she could get him to urinate on command.
When I heard that Pegasus would urinate when Sarah gave a special whistle, I was skeptical. One day when Sarah rode Pegasus to our farm, I told her I didn't believe it, so she said, "Stand back." Then she gave a warbling high-low-high, 'wee-oh-wee' whistle, and sure enough, he peed nearly a half gallon right there in front of us. She smugly smiled at me.
I asked, "Why would you want him to do that?"
"I don't like to muck out wet straw from his stall. Horse urine smells bad, so I put him in the pasture and get him to pee before I put him in the barn for the night. Otherwise, he pees on the fresh bedding I put in his stall."
"Whatever gave you the idea to train him to do that?"
"Grandpa trains his horses that way. He doesn't want them to pee during a horse show, so he gets them to pee before they go in the arena."
"Oh." After that, I never doubted Sarah.
With Virginia's guidance and training, Sarah became an expert horsewoman. Within about six more months, Sarah was winning showmanship and riding awards at local horse shows. Then she became interested in barrel racing. Her horsemanship and Pegasus' speed were responsible for winning a number of barrel races at rodeos and county fairs. Sarah and Pegasus won many ribbons and several cash prizes.
Sarah labored long taking care of Pegasus. Maintaining him was hard work. Beyond that, it was dirty and smelly. There were the daily feeding, watering, currying, bedding, and cleaning horse manure out of the stall. She had no days off, or days when she could sleep in. But Sarah enjoyed taking care of Pegasus. Caring for him made her a responsible, strong, young woman.
In the early summer before Sarah and I began our high school junior year, her father died of a heart attack. It shocked the farm community, because he was only 35 years old. His death left the burden of running the farm to Virginia. The Kolb's farm neighbors for several miles around pitched in and helped Virginia by harvesting the farm crops and helping with farm jobs that she and Sarah couldn't do. I also volunteered to help the Kolb's whenever I could. My ulterior motive was, of course, to spend more time around Sarah.
Sarah and Pegasus continued winning awards in various youth halter and showmanship classes. As a team, they excelled in barrel racing. Just after she turned seventeen, they won the state barrel racing title in the "youth 18-years and younger class." Several local newspapers published photos of Sarah, holding her trophy (which she dedicated to her father), while sitting on Pegasus. The American Quarter Horse Association picked up the story, and published an article in their quarterly about Sarah and Pegasus.
The publicity of their wins generated interest from a number of quarter horse owners who owned breeding mares. As a registered quarter horse, with a prize-winning lineage, plus numerous ribbons and trophies, Pegasus' foals could fetch a handsome price. Sarah and her mom would collect a substantial stud fee when Pegasus bred a registered quarter horse mare.
Other than having Sarah as a best friend in grade school, I really hadn't paid much attention to other girls. However, by the time I was in high school, my hormones dictated I pay more attention to the female of the species. There were several girls at Jackson who caught my eye, but Sarah was my first choice--we knew each other since we were kids, and her parents' farm was only a short distance away. Given the small mileage between farms, she represented the girl-next-door.
Sarah and I dated several times when we were sixteen and seventeen, and our relationship was slowly transformed. There was now something more delightful about being around Sarah than when we were kids growing up. When the weather was nice, we'd sit on the Kolb's porch swing and I'd put my arm around her. We'd talk about this and that, but nothing in particular. When we kissed, my heart began turning somersaults. Sarah's lips were so soft and sensuous that I couldn't get enough of her kisses. Our teenage infatuation was heating up.
Just after we turned eighteen, we started going steady. I told Sarah I loved her, and she responded saying she loved me. She would blush when I told her she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. Her personality was pure sunshine.
During the late summer, Sarah entered a couple local horse shows. She invited me to go along and I was more than happy to accompany her and to cheer her on. At a September horse show, Sarah introduced me to her widower grandfather, Arthur. He seemed like a kindly old gent. I guessed his age was somewhere between 65 and 70. He had white hair, looking slightly like Colonel Sanders, except he had no mustache or beard. He'd come to the horse show to see Sarah compete.
